


Fan Base

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley is a bit insatiable although it's all offstage, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Hero Worship, Humor, Inappropriate Use of International Express, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Rogue Angels, Sedition, Social Media, fan mail, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Post Armageddidn't, Aziraphale and Crowley each encounter some unexpected blowback.“Can I help any of you find anything?” said Aziraphale mildly....He couldn’t keep a store of Hellfire in the same way Crowley had preserved an emergency Thermos of Holy Water, and good job he had, but he had a little illusionist’s trick left over from his tenure as the Amazing Mister Fell, and could create an impressive eruption of some kind of flame that ought to at least catch them off their guard. It was a little insulting, really, that Heaven could have detailed such a clutch of junior-looking angels to lower the boom on him, but it helped his chances.“You, actually.”Aziraphale’s hand tightened on the Inextinguishable Fire Illusion.





	Fan Base

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone story, but it was set off by a throwaway line in my stunt-flying fic “Aloft” (which is a bit ruder) and riffs off my series about defections from Heaven and Hell alike, “Absent Without Leave,” without exactly fitting anywhere in its timeline.

They all seemed rather easy in their manner, chatting in respectfully quiet voices as they explored the stacks, _oh look at this_ and _I didn’t think any copies of that had survived, I have to tell Prav _and _it’s nothing like I imagined, did you see those shops outside_, and Aziraphale wasn’t fooled, not the tiniest bit. The affected demeanor of a group of excited shoppers, or undergraduates on a field trip, couldn’t conceal the characteristic awkwardness of a gaggle of cherubim and lesser angels, any more than the attempt to find a few bright colors (one had done something unfortunate to his hair with what was probably spray dye) could really disguise the subdued, expensive-looking pastel inflection of all their garments. For the moment, they seemed to think they were getting away with it. He decided to let them, regretting only briefly that Crowley wasn’t here. He might, after all, do something to make this worse.

They’d been living with the anticipation of aftershocks from the Armageddon-that-wasn’t for a few months now. High summer had passed off, some of the nights were becoming actually crisp, neither Heaven nor Hell had made a move to trouble either of them, and… somehow, in one of those summer nights that strung together like a necklace of faceted jet, sprinkled with stars (Crowley could point out the ones he’d made), flushing with smoky pearl towards dawn (Aziraphale always knew instinctively where the East lay; he had been the Angel of the Gate) hand had found hand, lips had found palm and cheek and eventually lips, and they had done nothing but embrace for hours, at last beginning to believe they had Eternity to speak what had apparently been in both their hearts for centuries.

Of course, Crowley had rapidly progressed to devouring the angel from the toes up, like someone who had read far too much of Donne’s poetry (the angel suspected he had put some of those ideas in the eloquent metaphysician's head), and then reversed course to savor him from the lips down, but Aziraphale had to admit he didn’t mind that, either.

And now his bookshop was full of incompetently surreptitious day-trippers from Heaven. With – oh, for pity’s sake, was that one wearing a nose stud? They were making a mighty effort to blend in.

The only mortal customer, finally persuaded she was not going to find anything that was actually available for sale today, looked at the little comic-opera troupe with faint perplexity and chimed her way out the door.

“Can I help any of you find anything?” said Aziraphale mildly.

“Well…” Here it came. The one whom Aziraphale had already pegged as a leader – an obvious cherub, with thick spectacles that made him look as if he had at least three pairs of eyes (hundreds more were undoubtedly in the extra dimension where angels kept things like their wings) – stepped toward his desk. Aziraphale reached inconspicuously into a drawer. He couldn’t keep a store of Hellfire in the same way Crowley had preserved an emergency Thermos of Holy Water, and good job he had, but he had a little illusionist’s trick left over from his tenure as the Amazing Mister Fell, and could create an impressive eruption of _some_ kind of flame that ought to at least catch them off their guard. It was a little insulting, really, that Heaven could have detailed such a clutch of junior-looking angels to lower the boom on him, but it helped his chances.

“You, actually.”

Aziraphale’s hand tightened on the Inextinguishable Fire Illusion.

“We’re your fan club. Part of it, anyway.”

The world went slightly askew.

“Principality.. may I be the first of us to… have the… the _honor_ of shaking your hand?”

Ah… what? thought Aziraphale, then realized he had actually said it.

“Shake your hand. I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

Aziraphale stood up, bewildered, looking down at the extended cherubic paw – excitement had made his corporeal form slip a little, and lion aspect was trying to manifest, but after a moment he got it under control. “You’re my idol,” the cherub added, as if idolatry weren’t specifically proscribed.

Aziraphale reached and tentatively placed his hand in the now more human-looking appendage.

A flash happened at the edge of his vision. A little flurry of whispers indicated a pair at the back of the group who hadn’t figured out the cameras on their cell phones, no doubt newly purchased. The cherub prolonged the handshake until another flash indicated they’d gotten it right.

This might be worse than a frontal assault, Aziraphale thought.

The rest of them surged forward, politely but insistently, one after the other clasping his hand until it began to feel a little nerveless and numb, camera flashes going off amid wide-eyed expressions of delight that belonged at a spectacle far more diverting, possibly a light show. As the last – there were more than half a dozen, but he was a bit dazed and kept losing count – withdrew his grasp, Aziraphale inconspicuously raised the wards on the shop doors. It wouldn’t do to have everyday customers, much less any other celestial beings, walking in on this.

He was beginning to connect the dots.

* * *

The first letter had arrived about three weeks after Armageddidn’t, curiously not seeming to bear any cancellation by the Royal Mail, but salted in among the catalogues and importunate letters from bibliophiles.

_You may not realize it but there are more than a few of us who think it was about time Gabriel and that lot had egg on their faces. We had a little party and toasted you. If only we knew how you did it! But we at least wanted you to know you have admirers. Please be assured there are some of us who’ll never follow an order to interfere with you. You have support!_

It had been followed in rapid succession by two more. He remembered keenly that the second had been delivered the morning he’d almost missed opening the shop because Crowley had… well, refused to let him leave the flat until… um. It wouldn’t do to be thinking about that just now, and reverie had almost overcome him.

_If you are ever inadvertently discorporated, please seek out Tadziel or Imparmiel in the Corporations Division – one of us will always be around after regular hours. We’ve found a way to circumvent the usual recordkeeping for issuing a new corporation. It would be an honor to serve you._

Another had arrived several days later.

_Just so you know, some of us didn’t have the slightest ambition to go out smiting, either. Celestial beings should have evolved beyond that and you’re the proof! We heard Sandalphon say you’d learned to dance as if it was a bad thing and decided to organize a dance group – would you ever consider teaching us a few steps? We’ve started with the bransle simple._

That had been out of fashion even longer than the gavotte, but it was, given that there was really only one move, a sensible place to start. Aziraphale realized his feet were tapping out the characteristic rhythm under the desk, stilled them with an effort, and looked up at the cherub leader, whose eyes were positively moist with exaltation.

“To actually meet you,” he said. “If – if it isn’t too forward – “

“Yes?” said Aziraphale. There was a continuous susurrus of excited whispers from the rest of the group, who were still pointing out nuances of the shop, and he saw one of the more junior angels palm a page from the calendar he’d forgotten to turn over for the last three days. It seemed a harmless bit of memento-collecting.

“Would you ever be willing to explain how – how you survived Hellfire? And even learned to _breathe _it? Because a lot of us aren’t sure where things are going after this…. One reason…”

“I really don’t want to get involved in conflicts,” said Aziraphale. “I can’t imagine anything like that is going to be repeated soon. They saw how it backfired.” Talk fast. Distract. His stage magician’s instincts, as inadequate as they were, kicked in, but he couldn’t think of a thing that was likely to distract them.

“It’s only that we’d always heard… Oh, what if we need to know? If there’s anything you can teach… it could be a important way of defending ourselves.”

“Besides, Gabriel is a prat and we’d love to wind him up,” murmured a chubby angel next to the leader. She was busily uploading pictures to Instagram.

“It’s not that simple,” said Aziraphale. “It… well, it takes great deal out of me, and it’s not something to be done lightly.”

His aspiring pupils seemed undeterred, merely gazing on him with attentive respect.

“It – ah – could only be done because of… Something special and irreproducible that I shared with the demon Crowley.”

There was an actual nudge and wink that passed between two of the junior angels at the back of the little throng, and what looked suspiciously like currency changing hands. “Told you so,” one of them mouthed.

“You have to be –ah – joined with a denizen of Hell, body and soul. It’s not something you can just make happen.”

More bets were apparently being resolved. There was a fist bump at the periphery of his vision.

“Michael and Gabriel had a big shouting match after you were both let go,” said the angel with the Instagram account. “You could hear them all the way into the Minor Blessings Division. They _totally _didn’t see that coming and they were both trying to blame each other. We have a pool now on which of the Big Cheeses is going to have a hissy fit by the end of the day.”

“I won three times,” said one of the others. “Gabe’s got a short fuse.”

This seemed disrespectful. But so, Aziraphale supposed, was belching Hellfire, even if he hadn’t actually been the one to do it.

They clearly lacked all discretion, but Aziraphale wasn't sure what he could do about it. “How ever did you all get to this plane in such a large group without being conspicuous?” he asked. “It seems unlikely you could make an excursion like this unnoticed.”

”We said it was a field trip to historic abbeys in the London region. Gabriel eats that sort of thing up.”

“And Uriel was a sucker for the idea that we need to get out more and see more of _the works of their hands_,” said another. “She gave us a list of museums.” A farcical facial expression.

“May we – offer to purchase a few books?” said the cherub leader. “I know we’re taking up your time – if there are some that you didn’t expect to sell – well – we came prepared to take them off your hands – “

“I can’t let you think of it,” said Aziraphale, faintly horrified at the unbidden notion of some of his more tattered books making their way from hand to hand Upstairs like treasured baseball cards. “I’m quite bowled over. No, really. Please – “ He couldn’t offer all of them a drink or a cup of tea. What ever to do? Where _was_ Crowley? Or would he be equally mobbed? No, he’d find a way to get rid of them. Good Heavens. Or rather, not.

“I can’t resist asking…”

It was the cherub spokesangel again, as the rest began to hop onto social media and Tweet to, presumably, followers left out of this field trip.

“About demons… have you really...?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean… you know..” The voice had lowered to a faintly lewd, conspiratorial tone. “We can't help wondering, it must be amazing…”

"Would it be all right if we got some selfies?" the chubby angel broke in.

All right, that was _it._ Aziraphale sprang up behind his desk. “Thank you all, I am very flattered! But – I can’t be responsible for anything that happens to you – You need to disperse – now – before anyone senses too much angelic energy coming from this location – for your own safety!!!”

Somehow it worked. They left, one and two at a time. One of the fist-bumpers came over again to gaze at him worshipfully, then miracle away with a dewy-eyed wave.

He dropped into the chair again. Dear Heaven, Hell and everything in between. It took several minutes for him to calm himself, hand over his eyes, breath slowing. This whole breathing thing tended to kick in at times of stress.

The door chimed, though he hadn't taken the wards back down yet. Only one being in the universe could disregard them.

“Do we have a problem?” said Crowley.

He had come bearing chocolate croissants, which he knew Aziraphale loved, and some redolent capped containers of espresso, from the bakery down the street.

“Couldn’t miss ‘m. Were they giving you trouble? Are you all right?”

“They seem to be my fan club, dear,” said Aziraphale. “And some of them asked the most impertinent questions…Would you think the less of me if I had a bit of brandy in that? It’s early, but I have to admit I’m a bit shaken.”

“Thought you liked impertinent questions.” Crowley snapped his fingers. “Brandy managed.”

Aziraphale, who usually found espresso a bit too bracing, took a deep, grateful gulp. "Only when _you_ ask them, dear."

“Well, that all explains a bit.”

Crowley had dropped onto the nearest chintz settee, more or less overwhelming it, or at least explaining to it that its ambitions to be actual furniture were unwarranted.

“I just had to shake off one of Belphagor’s file clerks. He wanted to do the tour of Saint Paul’s, Whispering Gallery, Loo Of The Year, all that, 'n' he was sure I could show him how to get in and out of a church without getting scorched.” Crowley inhaled espresso. “Told him I was only immune to holiness ‘cos of what I have with you, and you’re bloody _mine_, and if I ever saw him within a mile of this shop he'd end up as a hood ornament.”

A little flutter went through Aziraphale’s whole corporation on the word _mine._ It still shook him to admit even to himself how much he loved the demon’s protective possessiveness.

_God_, he loved it. And She could do what She wanted about that.

“And this showed up at the concierge desk for me. International Express.”

Crowley withdrew from his jacket pocket, and held up gingerly between finger and thumb, what appeared to be a lacy, black garter. It whiffed strongly of brimstone and some especially asphyxiating floral perfume. The angel wrinkled his nose.

“Perhaps the bins out back, if you would, dear.”

“There was a note, if you want me to read it to you – “

“_No._”

Aziraphale looked into the middle distance, uneasily.

“What ever are we going to do?”

“Well, I had some ideas on the way over – “ Crowley grinned lasciviously.

“Not like that – Crowley, please get that thing out of here! – Thank you -- I mean, this is a situation –

“It’ll blow over. Enjoy it while you can.”

“Are we – _celebrities, _ Crowley?”  
  
“Dunno. Pop online and see if we’re trending?”

“I can’t handle that now.”

“What _can_ you handle? Got something here...” Crowley wasn’t giving up easily.

Aziraphale conceded. Crowley really did have a knack for asking the right impertinent questions.

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> The relevant verse of Donne may be found here:  
http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/john_donne/poems/7912
> 
> Donne liked the ladies, as is evident, but mutatis mutandis, Crowley knew what to do with the idea.
> 
> Imparmiel was the name of a minor deity in an imaginary universe I constructed when I was thirteen. He may never see the light of day, but his name was angelic enough I decided to use it here.
> 
> If you liked, share, reblog, comment!   
Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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